


Chapel Restorations

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Series: 50 Shades of Samifer [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Blindfolds, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s going to take more than a convent of nuns to save this chapel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapel Restorations

**Author's Note:**

> **Kinks:** Blasphemy & Blindfolds
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Lilith’s blood has permanently stained the stones underneath it where it had twisted itself perfectly into a red circle.  
Scuff marks from wandering children, rain that has fallen down from the ugly gash in the chapel’s ceiling and nature’s usual wear and tear has blackened the wood furnishings in the chapel but not that circle of blood. 

The chapel’s altar is in poor condition aesthetically, the marble scorched black until its gold furnishings are nothing but maligned letters and shapes. Lucifer eyes it all with a rather reminiscent sensation, feeling daringly prideful and hostile all at once. Yet he is not here to walk through memory lane. 

He’s been called upon, the scent of something akin to myrrh floating in the air along with blood and smoke, pleasant enough to draw a smile across his lips. Myrrh is something Sam has always enjoyed, having shoved his nose into it when exploring a shop in Nebraska when he was ten. Lucifer thinks Sam assumed he’d like the scent, too, since he was rather fond of it himself. The gesture is rather…sweet. 

He could greet the Winchester immediately, but instead he waits unseen. Watches the way the muscles in the back of his thighs tremble at the coming cold from being exposed. Enjoys the way Sam will adjust and squirm about, trying to shake the sleep out of his limbs. Most importantly, the band of black cloth tied over his eyes, voluntarily blinding himself. 

Thirty minutes ago Sam called him and frostbitten eyes observed the bare hunter kneeling right in the middle of the circle. His teeth ached to bite into that bare neck or to simply press his mouth into the bunched muscles in his back, explaining to him what a _good boy_ he is. The archangel practiced self-restraint, fighting off that instinctual urge to wash Sam over with his Grace until it has successfully kissed every atom in his being. Instead he watches, in the poor lighting of the desecrated chapel, the sun’s sinking light casting ominous shadows and the cheap candles used for the summoning dancing spritely about in its spot on the ground before the altar. 

Only when a whine is pulled out by the wait, the note passing through Sam’s lips, does he finally move. Silent and watching Sam grip his knees, he observed blunt nails digging into the drawn skin, circling his way to the front of the hunter. The coming coolness of the room was making Sam’s skin break out into goosebumps and his cheeks flushed where the heat of his blood is fighting off the dropping temperature.

Lucifer runs his finger across the band of fabric, this physical show of trust towards him. The Winchester makes a sound in surprise, head turned upward as if he was looking up at him. “Lucifer?” he asks and the archangel leans down, grips his chin to answers him with a rewarding kiss. Sam nods and licks his lips, as if to share the kiss to his taste buds, physically relaxing at his presence. “You made me wait,” Sam’s twist his face into a making of a pout, but the accusation is humorous.

“No. I watched you wait,” the archangel corrects, dragging his thumb across Sam’s bottom lip. Sam shudders at the gesture, wet flesh of his lip nearly clinging onto Lucifer’s frigid skin. 

Lucifer lets his fingers glide across Sam’s cheek before it’s running through his hair, twisting it around his index finger before letting it go. Sam leans forward, nose pressing into his clothed thigh, teeth soon tugging at denim. The blond watches, a thick sound forming in his throat before he pulls away. “No,” he mumbles, scratching at Sam’s scalp lightly, “It’s my turn.” 

Sam feels his hands taken, carefully helped onto his feet, feeling a pins-and-needles sensation running through his right leg. Led slowly to his right, he feels the altar brush against his side before he’s being hoisted up without warning. The stone is freezing against his backside, hissing and complaining, earning a low chuckle somewhere to his left. 

“Lay down…” 

Sam does so, having to bend his knees because his legs were hanging off. There’s a mouth on his, the angle different and new, instinctively a hand reaching out to only find the top of Lucifer’s head. The hunter opens his mouth, tongue running across his in away that makes his knees bend even further towards his body, hungrily surging forward for more. He can feel it curling behind his own teeth, disorienting and different. There’s a trapped growl between their mouths that Sam can’t discern the origin of, but it vibrates about in his mouth, making fingers fist into blond locks of hair. 

Than he’s gone. Sam waits to feel Lucifer back on his mouth or somewhere near his face, but there is no touch to show him where Lucifer is placed. Shifting his hips, letting them rise from the table as a cruel way to reel the archangel’s presence, silence only greets him. A minute drags by and Sam huffs out the archangel’s name, but the sheer ignorance of where Lucifer is or what he’s going to do makes his gut twist in eager anticipation.

Lips graze his knee and Sam curses under his breath, leg twitching. “Jerk,” the hunter complains as a kiss is placed on Sam’s knees, pink from where they have been digging into the stone floor while waiting for him. Sam’s left to inhale sharply and make starving sounds that are born from his chest as Lucifer tenderly kisses every patch of skin on his frame. As quick as Lucifer is to tease, as quick is he to tend to the hunter. Occasionally fingers will drift across the wet flesh, tracing nonsensical symbols or symbols Sam can’t make out or understand. 

Every nerve in his body feels alive, imagination running wild at what Lucifer looks like while doing this. Wondering what his spare hand is doing — if he’s touching himself as he touches him. It makes keeping still a struggle, finding the layout different with his sight out of the picture. He can feel every flake of skin on Lucifer’s chapped lips that have been moistened by his tongue. He can feel the rough drag of his finger to the sharp scratch of the archangel’s stubble. 

Sam feels worshipped. A naked god sprawled out or some coming sacrifice to a god, prepped and pampered. It makes him almost lightheaded at the glorification occurring from the infamous Morningstar himself. Heaven’s most beautiful is worshipping him.

Stretched out on the altar, he nearly keens when Lucifer finds a sweet spot right behind his left knee. His feet arch back, the sensation of the Devil’s tongue dragging across the dip of his knee making his entire body rattle in pleasure. It’s when the archangel gradually moves towards his upper thighs and pelvis does he find himself holding his breath. 

Lucifer kisses and licks at the inseam of his thighs, nibbling at the skin until Sam is moaning his name. The archangel knows where to bite that will have Sam’s voice increase in volume and biting into his fist, his side getting knocked with Sam’s leg for him to stop teasing. 

“L-Luce, come on!” he grumbles impatiently. Lucifer kisses the patch of skin he’s been abusing, chuckling affectionately. 

“A _please_ wouldn’t hurt,” the archangel taunts but before Sam can shoot back a sharp retort, there’s fingers running across his frenulum. Sam goes painfully still and silent. There the fingers trace the ridges and its path before abruptly leaving.

Fingers move to wrap around the base and there’s a puff of cold air hitting just above the wrapped fingers, Sam’s thighs breaking out into goosebumps, the canvas of the skin changed. Calves tense when something wet drags across the base to the tip, realizing it to be the archangel’s tongue instantly. Sam shifts and squirms, mouth open and already forgetting how to breathe with his nose. Teasing licks here and there, Sam struggling to find the words for more, only managing to get the first word of the sentences out —

_Lucifer, I —_

_Lucifer, c—_

_Lucifer —_

When a mouth slides over the tip, he doesn’t care that he’s begging. He’s been waiting for half an hour on his knees thinking of what it would feel like to just feel Lucifer. To feel the way those chapped lips kiss the tip, than part open just for him. How the change in textures would dance across his skin. 

Sam _needs_ to see Lucifer. 

Wants to see the way his lips frame his cock, stretching when he takes him even further into his mouth. Wants to see those pale blue eyes staring up at him — the way his skin turns white where Lucifer is digging his fingers into. The blindfold prevents him from doing so and he keeps his fingers from straying up and pushing it off. All Sam can do is writhe at the sensation of his cold mouth moving across him and the desperate need for friction, his hips lifting and jerking upward so he can push the tip into the ridges of the archangel’s mouth.

Cool hands slide across his feverish skin, framing his hipbones before pushing down, pinning the hips that are insistent in defying gravity. Sam makes a disgruntled sound before it shifts into a throaty string of curses, because he can feel more than just the back of Lucifer’s throat. The Devil’s nose is buried into his pelvis and he remains put, Sam feeling each twitch of Lucifer’s throat to the heavenly sensation of his throat tightening about the tip when he swallows. It’s immediate wet, tight pressure from muscles and Sam’s instantly sitting up, hands gripping Lucifer’s shoulders. 

Lucifer makes a sound and it makes Sam’s toes curl, a shaky cry leaving his lips at the sensation of the vibrations about sensitive flesh. He’s not given a moment to compose himself. Lucifer is moving and pushing against his hands, lips and tongue sliding across him slowly, making him feel as if he’s suddenly struck with a fever. His body feels hot and he doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s flushed and sweating, something that drives him to vainly push his hips forward. Lucifer is this contradictory source of comfort: providing the relief and yet stirring the fever to a higher temperature. 

Sam feels his body give a strange jerk, like it just might crumple into himself. “Christ — gonna come,” he rushes out in one breath before he’s being punched in the gut by his orgasm, knees pressing against each other as if his body is ready to pull into itself. There’s a heady sound leaving him before it’s dying into a ragged sigh, letting himself lay back down onto his elbows on the altar. Sam eagerly welcomes the cool touch of the marble surface underneath him, the blindfold feeling like a wet nuisance against him, sweat sliding down the side of his nose. 

Sam shifts his weight to one of his elbows, reaching out to the icy archangel who is a comfort between his heated thighs. Lucifer suddenly feels fingers barely running across the side of his face, curling about his jaw as if to beckon him to come up. The archangel swallows around Sam and those fingers dig into the bone, the hunter nearly crying out at how oversensitive and raw his nerves felt. Lucifer gives something Sam assumes is a chuckle, feeling that cocky smirk trying to form around his length. Feeling the blond carefully slip him out of his mouth, a stubbled chin is so pressing into the palm of his hand. Both remain put, Lucifer listening to Sam catch his breath.

“My turn,” Sam finally tells the Devil, stubble scraping against the skin of his palm to be chastely kissed upon soon after. There’s movement before a hand is grabbing his, helping him back to his feet. The hunter moves to push the blindfold off but a hand stills his. 

“No. Keep it on.” 

Sam nods, cold hand squeezing his briefly before it leaves him. The hunter has to grope about to find the archangel, fingers feeling the ridges of marble before its feeling the soft sides of the Devil. Dragging his fingers across, his index finger dips down when it finds a bellybutton, continuing its way to the other side. Sam maps out Lucifer with his fingers, feeling him twitch and take in air as if he needs to breathe, pulling grins out of Sam. 

Turning the Devil around, he enjoys studying Lucifer’s back with the pads of his fingers. There the archangel makes pretty sounds, writhing and shifting against his fingers. Muscles are spasming under his fingers and Sam can only imagine that Lucifer’s cock is flushed at the tip with arousal, brushing against the hard marble when he moves. It makes Sam kiss the pronounced spinal column he’s been memorizing, braille made out of bones read by his lips. 

Lucifer leans forward until his chest is pressing into the surface of the altar, Sam’s body heat having made the marble warm. The archangel stares idly at the ornate stained glass window that’s cracked and missing it’s upper half. Lucifer stares at the glassed half of a saint, groaning into the marble when he finally feels Sam’s mouth sucking at the small of his back, fingers digging into his backside. 

The archangel is certain it’ll take much more than a convent of virginal nuns to restore this chapel.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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